Pieces of You (8 page)

"Am I free to go, officer?"

"As soon as the hospital clears you, you are welcome to leave. If we require further information we will contact you."

"Thank you, officer."

Officer Parkes nods and leaves the curtained area. Tim comes over to the side of the bed and sits in the only chair available "Damn, they need to make these more comfortable. My ass is going to go numb." Tim whines.

I turn and shoot him a dirty look. "Your ass is going to go numb? How about a concussion? Think I'm enjoying that much, buddy?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean…" He starts, and I cut him off by raising my hand. I honestly don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything. I want this incessant beeping to stop, and I want to go home to bed.

The nurse returns with a young doctor and they look at my head. "Mr Lorey. You are so lucky. You will have a headache for a few days and a slight concussion. I will advise you to stay away from heavy machinery, no driving cars or quads or any of that stuff. No alcohol." The doctor turns to Tim. "He's going to need supervision for the next twenty-four hours. Make sure he wakes up, that kinda thing."

"Other than that. How are you feeling?"

"Besides the killer headache? I feel like a million bucks."

The doctor nods and doesn't offer me a smile. Barely looks in my direction. ER doctors have trouble with bedside manner, what's the point getting attached to patients if you don't know what's going to happen to them. "Alright then, Mr. Lorey. You are free to go. If you pass out, vision changes, start vomiting blood, etc., come straight back and we will check you out."

"Thank you, doctor."

"Yeah, thanks, doc." Tim chimes in. "Okay, well I guess we're roomies for a few days." Tim claps his hands together and rubs them briskly. It would appear that he's formulating some sort of plan, evil enough to take over the world. Or maybe he's just excited to be in control of me for once.

I sit up and slowly turn my head to face Tim. Glaring at him. He looks far too happy with this situation, and I don't like it. "Pass me my pants and get out while I change." I bark at my best friend while he continues to wring his hands.

I don't like this one bit.

Chapter 9

Tim's bachelor pad stinks like sweat socks. His sofa is full of popcorn kernels, and the table is filled with empty glasses. I look around the room in disgust. "Dude, this is where you bring the ladies? This is not sexy, and I can promise you, I refuse to put out until it's cleaned up." I walk in slowly and look around the place.

"Are you kidding? I go to their place. There is no way any chick will find out where I live. I refuse to bring them here." He scoops up some papers from the sofa. "Here, get comfortable." He points to the seat and walks away picking up discarded items as he goes. Dusting off the cushion, I take a seat and hold my head in my hands. I can't believe I have to stay here for the next few days, but it's not like I have any other options.

"What can I get you? Need a drink or anything?"

"A blanket, man. I need sleep. It's…" I begin and look at the clock. "7:23 in the morning? Are you serious?"

"Yeah, you were knocked out around midnight, and we got you to the hospital as quickly as we could. You only woke up an hour and a half ago." He yawns and stretches his arms above his head. "If anyone needs sleep, it's me. I'm going to catch a nap." Tim stands and walks to the bedroom, stopping in the hall as he does, he pulls an extra quilt from the towel closet. "We'll go get your pillow this afternoon along with whatever else you're going to need."

"I can use this." I pick up the throw pillow from the back of the sofa. "Don't forget to check on me to make sure I wake up." I remind him and roll my eyes.

"I'm setting my alarms."

Tim leaves me alone in the living room, and I hear the bathroom door close.

Laying down on the sofa, I toss and turn in an attempt to get comfortable. Trying to avoid the gauze on the crown of my head, I finally find acceptable comfort on my left side and pull the blanket up to my chin. No nausea, no dizziness. I should sleep well for the next hour or twelve.

Tossing and turning I can't sleep. I keep thinking back to my last hospital stay, even though I am trying desperately to avoid those thoughts. I lay here staring at the black television screen, reflecting myself laying here on the sofa.

Taking a deep breath, I sigh and slowly sit up. Raising my hand to the gauze bandage, I find myself touching it gingerly. I don't know what's under this bandage. I don't remember the nurses saying anything about stitches but surely there are some.

Bored, I stand and make my way into the kitchen. This is somewhat clean as I'm sure most of Tim's meals come from takeout containers. I turn on the pot of coffee and sit at the table with my head in my hands. I hope this headache leaves soon. I don't think I can handle much more of it. As I wait, I take my phone from my pocket and look at the pictures again. Mel smiling. Mel and myself sharing a moment. A kissyface selfie and then a new picture. I don't remember taking this, but I must have. A photograph of Riley with a big swatch of pale gray paint on her cheek.

I remember that day well. She kept teasing me because I was trying to raise my eyebrow, and I was whining that I couldn't. Thought it was hilarious and she kept calling me Turtle. ALL. DAY. LONG. I took my full paint brush and marked her cheek with it. At first she was surprised, and then she started laughing. I thought she looked so beautiful just beaming the way she was. Ponytail, sweatpants and a big ol' blob of paint on her cheek and I needed a photo of it. I find myself still staring at the picture when I realize the coffee is done percolating, and the dark roast aroma fills the air.

Pressing the end button, I place the phone on the table, and the screen goes black. With a sigh, I stand carefully and walk to the cupboard to grab myself a mug. Pouring the coffee, the steam rises and fills my senses. I swallow a mouthful and close my eyes absorbing everything about this mug.

"I thought I heard some noise." Tim startles me from my peace. I lean back on the cupboard and place my mug just behind me.

"Sorry, there was no way I could sleep. Hope I didn't wake you."

"No, I hadn't slept yet. Just heard the coffee brewing. Then of course it's coffee and there will be no sleep." He chuckles and takes a mug down, pouring some for himself. He lifts it in the air as a toast and takes a drink. "Damn. That's good coffee."

"I really don't have to stay here, Tim. I can go home. I'm sure I will be fine. I'm not dizzy or nauseated or anything." I plead my case. I really don't want to be here. His place is dirty and smells. I want my bed, not a sofa. And I feel like a damn princess all whiny. Maybe I do need to stay a little longer just to get this out of my head.

"Tell you what. You get through today and tonight and I will take you home tomorrow."

"Why don't you just take me home and you can sleep on my sofa? I mean I am the one who got injured and needs his rest. I can't rest on your crumb infested sofa."

"Why not?"

"Dude, have you ever laid down on your sofa?" I hold up my fingers one at a time. "One, it stinks. I don't know what it smells like, but it ain't pretty. 2, it's lumpy as hell. Isn't that the same sofa your grandparents had in their basement when we were kids? We trashed that thing so many times." He continues staring blankly at me. "And 3, SO. MANY. CRUMBS. I feel like I'm laying in a sandbox. Dude. Vacuum."

He says nothing just stares blankly at me as he drinks his coffee. Each time the mug comes up to his mouth, I just want to shove it in his face. He makes no effort to discuss this with me, instead he changes the subject.

"I was thinking we could invite some of the gang from The Shake over tonight for dinner. I know at least a few of them are anxious to see that you're okay. Princess only being one of them."

I roll my eyes at his lack of understanding and walk to the table. "Oh yeah? Who?"

"Like I said, Princess and Matty from the shooter bar, and of course the band." He begins to raise the coffee to his mouth again. "And Trina." He adds as an afterthought.

"Is that so?"

"Oh yeah! Princess is upset that you got hurt because of him." He shakes his head. and I think I see a smirk form on his lips. "Matty was of course upset because he didn't get to help you in time. The band was upset because, well, your fight interrupted the set."

"I see." I spin my phone on the tabletop. "We aren't having them over here, Tim. It's a mess. Let's go do this at my place if we must. It's not gonna happen here."

He continues to ignore my pleas, and he's starting to piss me off. I'm done. Picking up my phone, I put it into my pocket and tuck my folded ballcap into my back pocket and walk out of the house. I'm going home. Where I can be comfortable, where I can rest and where it doesn't smell like old sweat socks and football gear.

Moments later, Tim pulls up in his truck alongside me as I walk. His windows are rolled down. "Let me drive you."

I offer him the same look he offered me when we were in the house. Boredom and distaste. He stops the truck, and I climb inside without speaking to him.

"Look. I was worried about you. I didn't think it would be that bad to crash at my house for a day or two, and quite frankly, I wasn't expecting any house guests, so my home probably did smell a little funky and my sofa did have crumbs all over it. But you need to stop acting like a damn princess and stop feeling sorry for yourself."

He turns the corner that takes us to the street I live on, and I turn to glare at him. "Feeling sorry for myself? What the hell are you talking about?"

He stays silent for the couple moments it takes to get to my driveway. Throwing his truck into park, he shifts his body and drapes his right arm over the back of the seat.

"I get it. I'm not a complete ass. I get that you lost Mel. I get that you were in a horrific accident. I get that you didn't get closure because her parents were dicks. But what I don't get is almost two damn years later, and you still mope over the love you lost. You can't move on because no one is Mel, or Mel wouldn't approve or some nonsense like that."

"You really think that?" It's starting to anger me. "You really think I was moping around for Mel? I wasn't moping. I'm not a freakin teenage girl."

"I hate to break it to you, but for the past almost two years, you have been a teenage girl, and I'm done. SO many of us are done, but everyone is afraid to say something because you might snap. We're afraid that you didn't get the proper help you needed to move on with your life, that maybe just maybe we will lose you too."

It's like a slap in the face. It stings coming from Tim.

I open the truck door and slide out, slamming it behind me as I storm away. For once today I am not thinking about my throbbing head. Or Mel, or Riley, or Trina. I'm not feeling bad for myself. Instead, I feel anger. So much anger and resentment for my friend. Pushing the door open at my house, I stalk inside and straight into the bathroom to wash my face.

Turning on the taps, I splash warm water on my face and rub my eyes trying to remove the cobwebs from my head. Looking up into the mirror, I see my pathetic reflection staring back at me. Realization smacks me in the face like a ton of bricks. Tim's right. I have been a mopey teenage girl, and I need to end this.

I start the water to my shower, and slowly take off my clothes, trying to avoid the bandage on my head. I grab my razor out of my shaving kit before stepping under the spray. Facing the water, I can avoid getting any on the wound while it soaks my body. I look down at the blade of the razor and lift it up to my exposed neck.

Carefully, I take my first swipe and remove the first strip of stubble. I continue this motion over and over again shaving below my chin and keeping the stubble on my face. I can't wash my hair until I take off the bandage, and I can't remove that for two days.

I have to change. I have to step forward and away from the accident and move on with my life. First thing I need closure. I need to say good bye to Mel. I will print off the pictures but I have to take them off my phone. I need to say goodbye, and I plan on doing so as soon as I can.

Stepping out of the shower, I swipe the condensation from the mirror and take note of the small knicks I left on my skin. Only two this time. I rip small pieces of tissue and stick them on the open wounds before I pick the small scissors out of my shaving kit and give the scruff on my face a trim.

By the time I'm finished, my anger has subsided, and I am ready to do this. I walk into my bedroom and throw on some decent clothes before making my phone call.

"Hello." The sweet voice on the other end of the line responds. She was always so gentle to me, until that day in the hospital.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Vispar. This is Tyson Lorey. Please don't hang up." I rattle off quickly. I need to plea my case.

"Go on." Her voice becoming as cold as ice. She still blames me. She hasn't moved on either.

"Mrs. Vispar. I need your permission to pay my respects to Mel. I need to tell her goodbye."

I hear her breathing on the other end, but she says nothing.

"Mrs. Vispar. Please. I just want to go and say goodbye. I won't come to you. I will go quietly and not stay long. Please understand that my guilt is unbearable, and it wasn't even my fault. You have to know this."

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "My husband won't allow it." They were always under the rule of Mr. Vispar. His voice carried and no one wanted it to be directed at them.

"I just need a half an hour. That's all, and you will never be bothered by me again. Please, Mrs. Vispar. Do you remember when you gave us your blessing to elope because you knew that your husband did not approve? You wanted your daughter to be happy."

She sniffles quickly. "I remember. But I can't let you do this. I made such a mistake last time. I regret offering you my blessing."

"I know you do. But please, I'm begging you."

The line is silent for a moment, and I hear some muffling on the other end. I believe she's walking around and I'm hoping to another room, or to an area where she can talk.

"Okay. I have Mr. Vispar drive me to go shopping every Saturday at ten. We will then have lunch at 12:15 at our favorite restaurant. Once we're done there, we go to the cemetery to say our hellos. We are usually there by two. I can't delay longer than two. Don't doddle," she whispers hurriedly into the phone. "I'm sorry you've had to live with this. I forgive you." She hangs up the phone, and I choke back a tear.

I've waited a long time to hear those words. I just hoped I would hear them face to face, but I will accept them the way I got them.

Saturday is three days from now. I need to make some arrangements.